


angel of the sea

by millimallow



Series: the world of owa [13]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Albino Character, Fantasy, Fluff, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millimallow/pseuds/millimallow
Summary: part 14 of the world of owa anthology. concerning a hobby and its hobbyists.meet me by the docks at 5. show me yours and i'll show mine.





	angel of the sea

in the summer, the ocean and the sky dye each other blue. pinnacle has what’s described as “temperate” weather, warming reasonably with the seasons, and in the hot weather i’m endlessly thankful that it never gets much worse. my job is a formal one, you see. full getup, sleek and formal. traditional or modern is okay- you just have to look good for a crowd. the best politician will tell you that the job is as much in front of a camera as it is behind closed doors. even when the closed doors are those of the marble palace.

the last portion of that name is perhaps a misnomer, as neither the building nor the land were ever owned or even constructed by a regal individual. pinnacle has been a republic for longer than a dozen living memories, and the construction of the grand cream-and-blue structure took place squarely amongst this clutch of lifetimes. but the impetus behind the construction was the idea of creating something that could compete, at least culturally, with the marjorium in trevailia’s capital. and the marjorium was- and is- the seat of the trevailian royal family. previous to this our seat of national administration was quite bland. last i heard of it, a fresh fish market occupies it, and a common joke is that something rotten, wet and with a repugnant stench will disgust those who enter- the ghost of a politician. though i myself am the head representative for my region of pinnacle, i cannot help but laugh when i hear it.

i’m not easily persuaded to remain in the city for a great period of time. xitoloa, my province, is eastern and dominated by craft and agriculture. though everything is beautiful, beauty of many different persuasions is the beauty that i am used to. so, i should be going home.

but i’m not.

the train is easy to catch from here. the scenic walk of a mile to the national station, much quicker by the ever-available tram. yet my legs won’t move a muscle in that direction. and i’m talking to myself like a fool because-

because i’m waiting for somebody here.

his name is zoran ciglixo. if i’m the country mouse, he’s the city mouse. another representative- for the province in the north that holds the second city. seurwalz. a human, noted for his albinism, popular amongst those he represents. regarded as handsome by a great number of people. unlike me- an elf who receives a general few comments about my appearance, positive or negative. my hair is caluute red, my eyes blue and my skin medium, all too common but not as likely to blind someone with glare if you walk up to them in broad daylight.

we’re meeting up to discuss boats. which is why we chose the docks- or rather, he chose the docks. we’ve gotten along well for a while now, politically (even if our roles are mostly ceremonial) and personally. conversations at lunch, policy discussions, public appearances together. and we both sail, though this is the first time we’ll talk to each other about it. and i don’t know if i’m excited or not, when my heart jumps and skips like an unreliable record player.

i’m interested, i know that.

there’s a sudden tap on my shoulder, and i turn in the source direction. if i get mugged, it’s probably my fault for daydreaming and narrating my day in my head while in a public area, i tell myself. then i hear a familiar voice, all before i can adjust my eyes to the new direction of the sun relative to me.

“sirwyn! i was beginning to think i’d never find you.”

the light, sweet tone of voice. the bright whiteness of the hair that comes into view, and the red eyes visible when the sunlight disperses. it’s zoran, for sure. i laugh, and rub my hand over my lightly-sweating forehead as a gesture of greeting.

“i’m exactly where we agreed to meet, zoran.”

“yes, well, i get lost easily.” he mutters, reaching to check his stopwatch. the corners of my lips can’t help but twist into a smile at his joking voice- the frank one that appeals to his people.

“aren’t you used to the city?” i ask.

“not this one.” he mutters again, finally able to check the time. “well, this isn’t as late as i could have been. you see that- if you look in that direction- “ he points south insistently- “you’ll be able to see that boat i took from seurwalz to here.” i’m not sure what to say for a second before i remember that for an experienced sailor, the coastal route is sometimes faster than the rail when it comes to the two cities. so i look over south to where a flock of boats are gathered at the low docks.

“there are a lot of boats.” now he’s smiling.

“it’s the one with the blue trimming and the orange rail flags.” true to form, i look for it, and there it is. it’s distinctive, but medium sized, semi-professional but a dead ringer for his years of experience sailing. for a moment, i’m embarrassed that mine is a good bit smaller.

“you have a nice boat.” i stammer out.

“thank you very much. it’s been with me for many years, you know. i prefer it over taking the rail anywhere, to be quite honest.”

“i’m sorry i don’t have anything of my own to show you.” i say, and zoran shakes his head in response.

“sirwyn, sirwyn, sirwyn. you’re too polite to an old man like me.” my smile grows even wider.

“but we’re only five years apart in age. if you’re a lonely old man in his 40s, i’m a younger lonely old man in his 40s.”

“i suppose. it’s just nothing like my youth, that’s it. running wild and free with the wind.” i can hear him sigh under his breath. “well. on the subject. i was thinking- i have a few bottles of wine stored away in that boat. white, red, rose. whatever you’d like. sound fun?”

“of course, though i’m not sure why you’re inviting me.”

“you’re a good man, sirwyn. and i think i’d like to get to know you better.”

i nod in agreement. what exactly he means, i’m not sure, but i have the feeling that it’ll be interesting.

“what’s the name of the boat?”

“angel of the sea, sirwyn. angel of the sea.”


End file.
